


This Kid.

by saturatedParadoxes



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Babysitting, adult Todd, ageswap au, autistic johnny, little shop of horrors - Freeform, young nny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturatedParadoxes/pseuds/saturatedParadoxes
Summary: This kid really scares you.You could've sweared you saw him kill a bird.





	

There's something about this kid that freaks you out. But let's back up, we don't even know you yet!

Your name is Todd Casil. You're a local writer that likes cartoons and your old stuffed bear. His name is Shmee, and you've had him since you were about four. You just moved to a neighborhood that's anything but quiet. It's filled with loud children, which, admittedly, their noises has gotten many flinches out of you. Has it been mentioned you're very jumpy? Boy, you're jumpy.

There's one specific kid that scares you, though. As it happens to be, he's the only kid you have to babysit on this street. He lives right next to you. His name is Johnny. He's only just turned twelve, but he still acts very childish. Today, you have to babysit him again.

"Johnathan, be nice for Mr. Casil, you hear?"

"Yes, father." He said in a mumble, not making any sort of eye contact, instead focused on latching onto your hand.

"Remember, no caffeine or sugar after seven."

"Yes, ma'am." You smiled and complied with Johnny's wants "Have fun."

"Bye, Johnny," his mother smiled sweetly at said child "Love you."

"I love you, too." He laid his face against you as if he was a bashful five year.

Then they left.

You smiled anxiously at the boy and turned to face him, he was still staring at the door, and you decided to ask; "What do you want to do?"

"I heard you're a writer. I like to paint." He, thankfully, pulled his face away "We both make nice things."

You nodded "What do you like to paint?"

He decided to bring you to his room. His black walls reflected white from the Christmas lights he hung up, and glow in the dark stars were stuck all over the wall and ceiling, and there was an easel just big enough for him. He gestured to the wall.

Red paint coated the wall, and over it was paintings of monsters, eyes, teeth, and even organs.

You felt sick to your stomach.

"Th-those are, uh," you swallowed and looked to the child, he was buggy-eyed "Neat."

"Thank you." He smiled and let go, and ran over and pointed to a large cage on the floor "This is my bunny, I call him Nailbunny. Because his fur is kinda reddish, like a rusty nail."

"That's ni-"

"And these are my doughboys. I don't know what to paint them like, or name them yet." He pointed to two large Pillsbury Doughboys and smiled, so you smiled back and nodded "Oh- and the paper on the easel is for my friend at school!" His eyes lit up as he walked over and pointed at the painting. It seemed to be a... Vampire pig? You couldn't quite tell. But you gave it a compliment, anyways.

"My friends name is Devi. She likes weird comics like this, so I think she'll like this." He walked to his nightstand and picked up a toy knife, at the tip all the silver was pealed off to show the black plastic underneath, and he began twirling it around "Can we watch TV?"

You furrowed your brow and nodded "I don't see why not," he walked back up to you, and you noticed he'd put the knife in his mouth "Does your Mom and Dad usually let you do that?"

"Yeah." He ran his fingers over the faux wood texture of the handle "They don't care."

With that, you went to watch TV. He picked up a DVD and put it in.

"What's that?"

He raised a hand in a 'But wait, there's more' was and smirked "An underrated piece of art."

"What?"

He handed the case to you and sat, grabbing his glass of cherry fanta off the coffee table. You examined the case- in an all-caps, drippy font it read 'LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS', a movie you knew all too well, but it was in black and white. When he started it, it was clear that this wasn't the musical you knew.

"I love this movie," your smile widened "But I usually watch the musical."

"That ones okay. But this is even better."

"Why's that?"

He shrugged and smiled "Just my opinion, I guess."

"Ah," was all you could say before you began focusing on the film. 

It was around an hour or so long, and as the clock got close to six, the ending took a turn you had no clue it could take. Your eyes widened in horror as a flower puppet showed Seymour's face groaning in pain before flopping over, then you heard Johnny cackle with laughter. You snapped your head to the child and your eyes went buggy. He was grinning in absolute delight as the movie ended.

"That's awful," you squeaked "Johnny, how could you laugh at that?"

Johnny stopped dead, still grinning, however.

"Sorry. I dunno, I just," the grin faded "It's bad."

"That was bad." You winced as his expression melded into pain "I-I'm sorry, I meant the movie."

"Oh," the pain didn't leave "I thought you liked it."

"No, I do!"

He pressed his face into his palms and sighed "Okay." You had no clue how to talk to him.

"So, this... This is your favorite version...?"

"Yeah."

"I have the musical at my house."

"Nice." He smiled "Maybe we could watch it next time?"

Next time?

"Yeah, I'll make sure to bring it."

He thought for a second before speaking again "Do you like cherry soda?" You nodded "What's your favorite kind?"

"I dunno. They all taste about the same to me." You shrug and watch him grab his sketchbook "What's yours?"

"Fiz-wiz." He glared at his cup as he drug his feet up onto the couch "But Mom keeps getting fanta. It's not bad, but it's not the right kind."

You nod and hum. You watch him sketch for a minute, his face twitches around accordingly. As soon as you realize how weird it is that you're staring, you pull out your notepad and begin writing down a demo for a chapter.

Johnny scoots towards you and asks what you're writing. When you tell him, he nods and goes back to drawing. Eventually, he shows you his sketch.

It's of you.

You had no clue what to say.

"I like to draw my friends," he adds more shading to the bags under your eyes and furrows his brows "And I think we're friends. Are we?" The question almost sounds nonchalant.

"I," you stare at him, friends? "I guess? You seem okay."

The rest of the night was silent.

The next day, you got up and looked out your window to see him playing in the driveway. He managed to catch a squirrel.

He raised a not-so fake, but still clearly chewed on knife and slammed it into the squirrels skull.

He cackled with joy.


End file.
